


Stranger

by Wxlves



Category: Captain America - All Media Types, Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-01-23
Updated: 2020-01-23
Packaged: 2021-02-27 15:42:09
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,462
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22379647
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Wxlves/pseuds/Wxlves
Summary: Steve reached under the counter, pulling out an old sawed-off shotgun and aiming it at the man. “If you’re comin’ here thinkin’ to rob me, then think again. Last outlaw who came in here never left, if you count the blood I couldn’t get off the doorframe.” Rain ran off the wide brim of his hat as the man remained in the doorway, his gloved left fingers twitching towards his gun. After a long pause he spoke, muffled by his cloth mask.“I’m no outlaw, just lookin’ for a place to stay out o’ the storm.“AKAThe Stucky cowboy AU nobody asked for
Relationships: James "Bucky" Barnes & Steve Rogers, James "Bucky" Barnes/Steve Rogers, Steve Rogers & Sam Wilson
Comments: 4
Kudos: 37





	Stranger

“Heard there’s been some spooky things happenin’ round here,” Sam murmured, glancing over the rim of his glass. 

“Really, Wilson?” Clint scoffed. “You ain’t listenin’ to a word of any rumors until you’ve had some whiskey. Then, you’re actin’ like it’s gospel truth.” Sam just shrugged, even as Clint’s annoyance turned to a crooked grin. 

“They’re talkin’ some tall tales about it. They say there’s a man who can run faster n’ lightning. You never see him coming until he’s already gone.”

Steve paused in his work, tucking the dirty rag into the apron tied at his waist as he leaned one hip against the scratched wooden counter. “Heard he’s got a sister. They say she’s a witch, and that she can make men see their darkest fears.” As Steve spoke his voice dropped into a hushed, ominous tone. 

Sam was enthralled. “You know what I’m talkin’ about?”

Steve’s demeanor shifted quickly as he laughed, stepping away from the counter. “I own a saloon. I see drunk guys with their stories every day and if I went believin’ all of ’em I’d be havin’ a real interesting time down here.” Thunder cracked outside, followed by a bright flash. 

“Well Sam, there’s the lightning. Has he come and gone yet?” Clint clapped him on the back as they both roared with laughter, Steve chuckling from his place behind the bar. 

“Might want to head out before the storm really gets here, huh? Where you stayin’ Barton?”

“Sam’s got me this time around. I’m headin’ out at dawn so I’m not here for long anyways.”

Clint’s stool scraped the uneven wooden floor as he stood, not even tipsy. Sam was able to walk but he swayed where he stood, dropping his payment onto the counter where it clattered loudly. Steve’s watchful eye followed them out the door, even as he continued cleaning. 

Just minutes later the loud bang of the wooden door caused Steve’s head to shoot up. Backlit by another bolt of lightning, a figure stood in the doorway, rain pouring down behind them. They took another step in and the flickering lantern light of the saloon illuminated what had just been a silhouette. It was a man, dressed in dark clothes with heavy black boots, silver spurs jingling at each step he took. A gun was holstered at each hip and a cloth covered the lower half of his face, the rest obscured by long, dark hair and a hat pulled low to shadow his eyes. 

Steve reached under the counter, pulling out an old sawed-off shotgun and aiming it at the man. “If you’re comin’ here thinkin’ to rob me, then think again. Last outlaw who came in here never left, if you count the blood I couldn’t get off the doorframe.” Rain ran off the wide brim of his hat as the man remained in the doorway, his gloved left fingers twitching towards his gun. After a long pause he spoke, muffled by his cloth mask. 

“I’m no outlaw, just lookin’ for a place to stay out o’ the storm. I was told this is the only inn in town. You greet all your guests like this?”

Steve huffed, lowering the shotgun but leaving on the counter in front of him. “Could’ve fooled me with all that dark clothing. Can’t even see your face.” 

He pulled his hat off his head, tugging the cloth down to reveal his face. “Better?”

Grudgingly, Steve slid the shotgun back into its place, resting his hands on the counter. “What can I do you for?”

The man gestured back towards the rain with his thumb. “You wouldn’t happen to have somewhere for my horse, would you?”

Steve deftly untied his apron, tossed it onto an empty table, and grabbed a lit lantern as he headed outside, nodding to let the man know he should follow. 

After leading the horse into an empty stall Steve stopped to admire it. It was a light gray, nearly silver in the light, with darker gray spots dappling its back. “Beautiful horse.”

The man chuckled. “Got her for almost nothing ’cause she wasn’t broken in. Trained her myself and now she’s the best behaved horse this side of the Rockies.”

Steve moved two stalls down to where Captain stood, regarding the stranger with dark, intelligent eyes. He stroked a hand down his nose where the white star stood out from his red-brown coat. “This one listens well but sometimes he’s got a mind of his own.” The silver was skittish at the storm brewing outside but Captain was unbothered, more preoccupied with the people in front of him. 

“Never seen such a bright red color before.” Steve shrugged one shoulder. “Matches his personality.”

Back inside the saloon Steve slipped behind the bar, pulling a dull, tarnished key from one of many hooks behind him. He tossed the key towards the stranger with a smirk. “Rooms are up the stairs and down the hallway. Pay at the end of your stay, standard fare. Water pump is outside if you feel like havin’ a bath and breakfast is at sunrise, so you better hope you don’t sleep in late.”

He expected that to be the last he saw of the man until morning but minutes later he was trekking back down the stairs, jacket off and damp shirt halfway buttoned. Pulling out a stool at the bar he sat, tapping the counter with his knuckles. “A whiskey, please.”

Pouring the liquor, Steve stopped just shy of sliding it to the man. “I’m gonna need a name if you’re goin’ to be sitting at my bar and drinking my whiskey.”

“My god-given name is James but nobody except my Ma calls me anything other ’n Bucky.” Steve could see Bucky in detail now that he sat at the well-lit bar, only feet from where Steve stood. His jawline was so sharp it nearly cast a shadow on his neck, his eyes such a bright blue they almost turned purple in the orange lamplight. His lips tilted upwards at the corners, settled into a permanent, subtle smirk. Steve pulled himself out of his head, turning back around to finish wiping down the glasses. 

“What do I owe you for this?” Bucky asked. Turning, Steve found Bucky tracing the rim of his glass, drink already half-gone. His eyes tracked the movement of his finger for a moment before flicking up towards Bucky’s face. 

Shrugging one shoulder he leaned back against the shelf behind him, careful not to disturb the glass bottles that rattled as he did so. “Don’t worry ’bout it.” Bucky arched one brow but didn’t respond.

Breaking the silence that had settled in, Bucky turned to look behind him at the door he’d come through. “So what’s the story with the blood on your doorframe?”

“Ain’t much of a story. Some no-good outlaw come in here tryin’ to rob me. Pulls out his gun and I tell him I got some iron too and he best leave before he finds himself filled with it. Seems he didn’t want to listen which I’m thinkin’ was his mistake. What’s your story, stranger?”

Bucky’s eyes darkened, face turning to stone in an instant. “My life ain’t been no bedtime story for the children.” Steve’s gaze fell on his left arm, covered in scarring.

“I could’ve guessed that, but there’re no children here, just a widower who’s seen too much of this wild West.” Steve’s own life was hard and bloody, covered in the dust of the mountains and filled with ghosts.

Raising his glass in a salute Bucky threw back the rest of the whiskey. The glass hit the wood of the counter with a loud noise, chair legs scraping as he stood. “I have a feeling we’ll meet again,” was all he said before stalking from the room.

He was gone before dawn the next day, the man with the bloody past just another ghost in the gray morning light.

-

It’s decades later and Steve’s hands are spotted with age, crow’s feet marking his eyes. A tall silhouette stands in his doorway, black cloak flowing behind him. The stranger’s face is covered, iron at his side, silver spurs on his boots. Steve knew, he knew in his gut this stranger was here for him. Everybody worth anything knew the legends of the riders in the sky — when they come to take you, only the foolish try to run. Without moving from the doorway the rider raised his gun. 

As the shot echoed through the saloon Steve could have sworn he caught a glimpse of blue eyes from under the wide-brimmed black hat. Before he could know what he’d seen for sure everything went black, the old, tired widower dead before he hit the ground. 

**Author's Note:**

> Listened to Cattleman’s Gun while writing this in a little over an hour. I don’t even know what this is and tbh I wasn’t expecting to write that ending but oh well.


End file.
